Taylor the Latte Boy
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: What are the odds of my name being Taylor and getting a job at Starbucks? Probably about the same as meeting the man of my dreams there. Slash!
1. Chapter 1

There are quite a few things you're forced to give up when you begin working at Starbucks. The first is, of course, sleep. When you live twenty minutes away and have to be at work for 4:30am to open up, coupled with the fact that your latest class ends at 9:00pm and you still have to get homework done (though what's the point? College teachers don't check on that crap), you learn to get by on just four hours of sleep and relish the nights in which you get even five hours. You also start calculating which parts of your morning routine can be cut out or shortened to allow you those few extra precious minutes of shut-eye. I'm proud to say that I can wake up and be out the door in a total of eight minutes now that I sleep with my socks on, use spray deodorant, and slick my hair back rather than actually trying to comb it.

Another thing you quickly lose is your dignity. Though Starbucks is a hot spot for hanging out among youths, working there isn't quite on the same playing field. Let's start with the fact that you don a ridiculous black hat and an even more ridiculous green apron and then move on to the fact that duties for all employees include cleaning the disgusting bathrooms. I'm not sure what it is about over-priced coffee that makes it impossible for people to flush the toilet. Then again, flushing is a bit pointless when they can't even get all of their business inside the bowl anyway.

Though I lost those things when I took a job with the coffee franchise, I lost something even more important. No, I don't mean my soul (you learn not to miss that after working there a few days); I mean my name. I have the misfortunate of having been named Taylor by my parents. It's not a bad name, by any means, and for most of my life I've had no problem with it. Sure, it's a unisex name and I got some flak for it in high school, but there are worse things I could have been named…at least, that's what I had once thought.

"Welcome to Starbucks! What can I get you?" I asked, making sure my voice was overly chipper. I'd found that disingenuous perkiness made my suicidal impulses ebb.

The woman who was standing before me chomped down on her gum as she looked at our menu. In one of her perfectly manicured hands was the tiniest cell phone I'd ever seen, which she held tightly against her ear. "Oh, I know," she lamented in a nasally voice, "I saw her with that Tiffany's tennis bracelet and all I could think was 'That should _so_ be me,' right?"

"Ah, ma'am?" I asked, hoping to hurry her along. A line was beginning to form behind her, and if there was one lesson I'd learned during my time at Starbucks, it was that patrons would always take their anger out on the cashier, no matter who was truly at fault.

She rolled her eyes. "Hold on, Trish," she said to the person on the other end of the phone. "Grande no foam latte with skim milk and a pump hazelnut."

To non-Starbuck patrons, such an order would sound like Greek. Regular patrons had a habit of firing out orders at rapid speed with no pity for poor first-time cashiers who slowly diddled around the computer for each aspect of the order. Working the register was serious business. You were thrown in and had to either sink or swim. Luckily, I learned to swim pretty quickly.

"Can I interest you in one of our delectable pastries?" I asked as my fingers flew across the touch screen, punching in the order.

Miss "Skim milk no foam latte (with a pump of hazelnut)" snorted at my question and gave a laugh that would put Fran Drescher to shame. "Yeah right! Like I'd shovel that fatty stuff down my throat!"

I smiled at her mocking while simultaneously envisioning myself shoving doughnuts down her throat. Being the good little worker that I was, though, I simply told her what she owed me, took her money, handed her the change, and instructed her to wait at the end of the counter.

"Let me guess: You were daydreaming about pushing a Big Mac down her throat?"

I gave Nora, my co-worker and female counterpart, a guilty smile. "Actually, it was doughnuts, but you get the gist."

Nora gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. She was one of the few people working there who I knew I could trust and who had a healthy sense of humor. She also was slightly more level-headed than me, which came in handy when I was on the verge of strangling someone.

"Just remember that when you're a famous director you can give a bunch of interviews about how you were a tormented barista and how you channel that into your work."

I turned back to the register as I thought about how I could channel this pain into a film – perhaps Nora and I could co-write a movie called _The Coffee Shop That Stole My Soul_. When I finally focused on the next costumer, my jaw almost dropped. The young man standing before me was by far the most gorgeous man I'd ever laid eyes on. He was tall and gaunt – lanky, others might call it. He had brown hair, twisted into soft, messy curls, dark brown eyes, and the most adorable lips I'd ever seen. I felt my heart pounding within my chest as I looked at him.

"…Hi." I mentally kicked myself for sounding like a lovelorn little girl

The adorable lips twisted up into a smile. "Hi. Do I order here?"

"Yes, here…here is where you order."

"Good. I'm glad we established that. So could I please have a tall caramel frappuccino with extra caramel and one of those really great looking pink brownies?"

"Sure, but, between you and me, those things are gross."

"Well, then what do you suggest, oh expert one?" he asked in amusement.

"The apple fritters are awesome and the pumpkin cinnamon muffins, as strange as that flavor combination sounds, are pretty much the food of God."

The gorgeous man raised his eyebrows, though the grin remained. "Well, with a description like that, how could I possibly refuse? One pumpkin cinnamon muffin…Mister…Snitch?" he asked, leaning down to look at my nametag. "That's an unusual name."

I tried not to let my cheeks redden as I punched in his order. "It's a nickname. I'd rather not go by my real name here."

"Embarrassing?"

"More of an annoyance."

"Well, don't keep me in the dark," the man egged on. "What is it?"

I leaned in, beckoning for him to do the same. "Taylor," I whispered as though I were telling him a national secret.

"Taylor?" he repeated. I could tell he didn't get it. "What's wrong with the name Taylor?"

"Nothing if you don't work at Starbucks. If you do, it opens the door for Broadway fangirls and pre-hags to make jokes that are neither funny nor clever."

"Ah…I'm sorry, but I don't follow."

"There's a song sung by Kristin Chenoweth. She's a big Broadway celebrity, though she's been doing lots of TV work lately. Anyway, the song is called 'Taylor the Latte Boy' and it's about a boy named Taylor who works at Starbucks and who is the object of affection for some crazy chick who thinks that a triple latte is a symbol of love."

"So these, uh, 'pre-hags' come in here and start serenading you?"

"Yes, and the worst part is that half of them can't sing nearly as well as they think they can. After the fifth one warbled through a chorus and drew strange stares from other patrons my manager forced me to use another name on my nametag."

"Tall caramel frap with extra caramel!" came a call out from the end of the counter.

"I think that's me," the man said, giving me a sad smile which I returned. "I guess it's not logical to try and stand in line all day."

"No," I agreed. "I'm sure your legs would start to hurt."

"Not to mention it would make it difficult for you to serve any customers."

Screw them, was my immediate thought. I'm sure my manager would have disagreed.

The man retrieved his order from the counter and I greeted the next customer, though one eye stayed on the man. He turned around and caught my eyes, calling out, "See you later, Snitch the Latte Boy!" and then he was gone.

* * *

**AN:** I don't know where this came from or even where it's going, but I like it (and if anyone is wondering, yes it will be Snittery). Reviews, as always, are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

"Yesterday it only cost me $2.61! Now you're telling me it costs $2.83?"

I inwardly groaned, not wanting to get into yet another fight with a customer regarding prices. The company had just implemented price increases on almost every item we sold, resulting in some very angry customers. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have no control over the prices. We were told by the company to raise prices."

The man sneered. "Oh, because you aren't getting paid enough as it is?"

"Sir, this isn't going to increase my salary. If you have a problem, I suggest you write a letter to our headquarters."

"Don't get smart with me, punk! It's people like you who are bleeding hard-working folks like me dry!"

I stood there, letting the irate man verbally abuse me, while musing over the fact that, if he just bought a bag of coffee at the grocery store and brewed it himself every morning, he would be saving money. Such logic tends to escape most people, though.

He eventually stopped bitching long enough to toss me a fifty dollar bill – oh, yes, he was _really_ being bled dry – and I quickly handed over the change along with a paper cup for him to get coffee from out basins of the day's brew, located at the back of the café. He glanced inside as though he expected me to have spit in it, gave me a curt nod coupled with a scowl, and strode off, mumbling about unfair life was. Yeah, buddy, tell me about it.

"What's really funny," I told Nora as we sat down for our company ordered fifteen minute break, "is that tomorrow he'll be back here again to be 'bled dry' all over again."

She glanced down into her own cup of coffee. "I swear they must be sneaking nicotine into this stuff, the way people keep coming back." She took a swig, making a slightly sour face. "It tastes like every other coffee I've ever tasted."

"Don't let Ass-Kisser Al hear you say that. He'll tell Marty, and then you'll be on drip duty until you can correctly identify each brew in a blind tasting."

She groaned, recalling the last time she was forced on drip duty. It required the worker to transport each basin of the day's brew back and forth between the customer station in the back of the store and the three huge coffee machines located behind our counter. The basins, when completely filled with boiling hot coffee, weighed nearly forty pounds. Sure, that doesn't sound too bad, but when you factor in having to walk back and forth behind a crowded counter, often times having to stand there, waiting for customers to clear away from the drip station, it becomes an exhausting work-out, especially for someone like Nora who weighs about 100 pounds.

"I fucking hate drip duty. Last time, I was carrying a filled basin and Paul said, 'Oh, here, let me help,'" she said, referring to a co-worker of ours who looked as though he spent two hours pumping iron in a gym. "So I was thinking he was going to take the basin for me and carry it. But no! He just fills the coffee maker to make another batch and leaves me to lug that thing to the station! I mean, I was grateful for the help, but couldn't he have been a gentleman and carried the stupid thing for me?"

"I thought you hated when guys treat girls like weaklings."

She made a face. "I like it when it means I don't have to carry something half my weight that slops hot coffee about and spills on me."

"Hey, five minutes, guys!" Al told us as he passed by. "I'm watching the clock!"

Al was the Assistant Supervisor, working under Marty, our Manager. Al was the kind of guy who didn't really aspire to be anything more than a Starbucks worker. He lived and breathed for the company, willing to give up anything to benefit the Starbucks name. He would never hesitate to report someone who wasn't living up to Starbucks' standards and who even had one disparaging remark about the coffee franchise.

In short, he _really_ needed to get laid.

"We're watching," I assured him. He responded with a skeptical glance before walking off to berate one of the other workers for not properly restocking the paper towels in the bathroom.

"So what ever happened between you and that cutie from last week?"

"Uh, you saw everything that happened. He came in, made his order, and left."

"And you didn't try to track him down?" she asked incredulously.

"Using what? I don't have telekinetic powers, you know."

"You could put an ad in the paper. 'Snitch the Latte Boy seeking Caramel Frappuccino.'"

"That sounds so…pathetic."

"Come on, are you really going to tell me that you haven't been thinking about him?"

"Nora, I only talked to him for, like, a minute."

"It was a minute and twenty-one seconds, actually, and you were giving him those goo-goo eyes the entire time."

I pouted, muttering, "I do not make goo-goo eyes…"

The truth was that I'd been thinking about my mystery customer on and off for the past week, wondering if he would return. I wasn't obsessing over him or losing sleep over the entire thing, but I did feel slightly embarrassed that I'd become so ensconced with a man who I only knew by his drink order. Sure, anyone who ordered a caramel frappuccino was obviously awesome – I can always tell what kind of person someone is by their choice of Starbucks drinks – but that's all he was; he was the tall caramel frappuccino with a pumpkin cinnamon muffin (which was only based on my recommendation). You can't really build a healthy relationship off that alone.

"Break's over!" Al announced cheerily. I think he secretly took pleasure in our pain.

Nora and I groaned to each other and pulled ourselves to our feet. It was only by chance that I glanced up at that very moment, looking out the window at the very moment he walked by. It was him! It was Tall Caramel Frappuccino! He was walking by the window in a light jacket with what looked to be a guitar case strapped on to his back. I could see little white earplugs secured snugly within his ears and his head was bobbing as he walked by, completely unaware of the fact that I was staring slack-jawed at him from inside the building.

"Snitch?" I heard Nora as in bewilderment as I dashed to the window, banging my hands against it to get his attention. When that didn't work I rushed out the door, on to the sidewalk, and gently grabbed his shoulder. In hindsight, that wasn't such a smart move considering the huge case situated on his back. At my touch, he jerked around and I took a hit to the face, stumbling back and falling ungracefully to my ass.

"Can I help you?" he asked, pulling the earplugs out. When I looked up at him, I saw his eyes widen and a sweet smile play on his lips. "Snitch the Latte Boy?" he asked as he held out a hand to help me up.

"Guilty," I said sheepishly, taking his hand and pulling myself up to my feet.

"Oh, jeez! Did I hit you?"

"I'm fine. Trust me, I've had worse. I didn't mean to startle you…I just saw you walking by and…well, you hadn't been here in a while and I thought you might be hankering for a caramel frappuccino or a pumpkin cinnamon muffin…or something."

He flashed me a smile. "I hope you haven't taken offense to my absence. It's just that Starbucks can be expensive, so I can only treat myself every now and then to the sweet delicious faux coffee drink."

"Well, I think you're due for another faux coffee drink. My treat," I said. "And I get an employee discount, so don't worry about the money or anything."

"Do you always offer to buy Starbucks for people, or am I just special?" he asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

I wasn't sure which response would sound less creepy, so I told him the truth. "You're definitely special."

"Just what a guy wants to hear! Okay, Snitch the Latte Boy, I accept your invitation."

"Snitch! What the heck do you think you're doing?" I think Al has some sort of built-in radar that lets him know when he can ruin things. "Did you not hear me tell you that your break was over?"

"I heard, Al," I said monotonously. He was behind me, so I could safely roll my eyes, an action that did not go unnoticed by the gorgeous man before me.

"Actually, sir, your wonderful employee here has convinced me to sample one of your wonderful products," he said without missing a beat. "You should give him a raise for his fantastic salesmanship!"

Al's pursed lips and narrowed eyes indicated to me that a raise was _not_ going to happen at any time in the near future. Still, he seemed to have bought the guy's explanation of why I was outside and not behind the register and his anger seemed to have abated. Without another word, he beckoned me to go inside and get back to work.

"Thanks for that," I whispered as I held the door open for the man.

"Hey, it's the least I could do."

"So, uh, what's your name?"

"Nathan…but everyone calls me Skittery."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where to?" I asked after holding the door open for him.

Nathan – or Skittery, as he'd insisted I call him – shrugged. "You choose. But it'll be my treat, okay?"

"That's not ne–"

"I _insist_," he said firmly. "You bought me three caramel fraps and two muffins, so I owe you."

I shrugged, but I didn't fight the issue. In truth, I had only continued to slip him gratis orders so as to keep him there until I got off at noon, adding the promise of a lunch date as an extra incentive. I'd hoped, though, that his sitting inside Starbucks for the past two hours was for me as much as it was for the free coffee and pastries.

"So do you play?" I asked, gesturing to the guitar case he was carrying.

"Nah. I just like to carry it around. Exercise, you know?"

"Ha! I see you've got yourself a healthy sense of sarcasm."

"Kind of necessary," he said. "Otherwise you end up like that manager of yours."

"Al? Yeah, I don't think he's ever laughed or smiled in his life."

We turned the corner and I spotted Ramona's, a somewhat dilapidated diner that served surprisingly good food. I jutted my thumb toward it, asking, "Is here good?"

Skittery shrugged. "It's fine."

"So are you majoring in music, or is it just a hobby?"

"It's more than just a hobby," he said, "but I'm not majoring in it. I'm not in college."

My eyebrows shot up, surprised at his confession. He obviously wasn't in high school, unless he was playing hooky for the day, and I figured he couldn't be more than a year older than me. While I knew going to college wasn't a necessity, it was surprising to find someone who wasn't trying to get even a degree in general studies. I hated to think that, though, because it made me feel like a snob, and I hoped that the surprise didn't show too much on my face.

Apparently, it did. "Yeah, surprising, I know," he said with a small smile. "I mean, I went to college for a year, but it wasn't for me. I felt stupid spending money on something I wasn't that into, so I dropped out and decided to just focus on my music."

"And how is that going for you?"

"Slow," he admitted. "Thus the reason that my Starbucks trips are so few and far between."

"Where do you work?"

"Well, I have a steady part-time job teaching guitar to teenagers." Skittery made a face, leading me to believe that his clients wouldn't be winning Grammys any time soon. "I also get gigs here and there."

"Any place cool?"

"Yeah, if you consider bar mitzvahs and weddings cool," he joked. "Now and then I get a gig at some small bar or club, but most of my work is done at religious gatherings. It's not going to get me into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, but it pays the bills."

We placed our orders with a waitress who had an unappetizing cigarette dangling from her lips and settled back in our ratty booth, inhaling the stench of burnt bread and fresh coffee. "So what do you do?" he asked. "I assume that doling out crappy, yet satisfying, coffee-like products isn't something you plan to do the rest of your life."

"No," I said adamantly, "it's not."

"Let me guess: Doctor?"

"I faint at the sight of blood."

"Lawyer?"

"I get bored far too easily."

"Kindergarten teacher?"

I snorted. "Can you imagine _me_ teaching five-year-olds? I would corrupt their little, malleable minds."

"So what, then?"

"Well, the goal is to become a director," I said, ducking my head down.

"Like for film and stuff?"

"Basically."

"So would you wear those old-time knee pants with a beret and sit in one of those folding chair with a megaphone, shouting out orders?"

"At this point I think I'll be lucky to be the one serving doughnuts."

"What makes you say that?"

I shrugged, glumly recalling how my work in school had been. My teachers were frustrated with me, claiming that I wasn't giving one hundred percent. They said my work was sloppy and had no real feeling behind it. While I had never been a straight A student, my grades were becoming worrisome to me. I was on the verge of failing at least two of my film classes, and I wasn't exactly wowing them in any of my other classes.

"Creative differences with my professors," I said. "They don't care much for my form of film making."

"So? Maybe they're wrong."

"Very doubtful."

"Just because they're your teachers doesn't mean they can't be wrong. Look at how many artists were shunned for their work!"

"They all lived depressing, alcohol-filled lives, and I'm pretty sure none of them were able to reap the benefits of their work until they died."

"Hey, you gotta suffer for your art!" he said. "Do I care that I have to cut my own hair to save money or that I had to learn to sew just to mend my own clothing? Heck no!" he proclaimed, punctuating the "no" with a slap of his hand against our table. "I will do anything for my art!"

I sat, back pressed against the cheap plastic of my seat, in both shock and amusement of his proclamation. "Well, that was…passionate…"

"You should have passion in your art. That's what's most important. Look at Ed Wood. Sure, his films sucked and he had no idea what he was doing; but you could tell that he had a true passion for making films and that's why they have stood the test of time."

"I think it has more to do with being awesomely bad."

He waved off my explanation. "Either way, I'm sure you'll do great with your work."

"But you haven't even seen any of my work."

"No, but I've seen your passion."

"My passion," I repeated. "In what? Coffee making? Salesmanship?"

Skittery's cheeks tinged with pink. "I just think that you have a vivaciousness and a sense of self that most filmmakers greatly lack."

It was by far the most flattering and most genuine compliment I'd ever received, and the fact that it was coming from a guy I'd been lusting over for the past week only sweetened it to my ears. "Wow…that's really…thank you!" I managed to stammer out, well-aware of the fact that I was blushing like an idiot.

The moment was ruined by the annoying buzz of a vibrating cell phone. Skittery gave me an apologetic smile as he pulled the offending phone from his pocket. One look at the ID and his eyes widened. "Oh, God! I'm so sorry, Snitch! I completely forgot that I have a lesson, like, _now_!"

"Oh. Well, that's okay."

"I promise to make it up to you!" he said as he gathered his things. He threw down a few bills on to the table, telling me, "And here's the money for lunch."

Recalling his proclamation of the things he did to scrimp, I shook my head in protest. "Keep the money. It's fine!"

"No, you keep it. My treat, remember?"

"Skittery…"

"Tomorrow. I have nothing to do all day. Call me and we'll hang out, okay?" He didn't wait for my response. Instead, he swooped down and gave me a quick peck on the side of my mouth. "Sorry again. I'll see you later!"

And with that he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

"What are you drawing there?"

I didn't even glance up at my friend Blink's question, opting to focus on my current masterpiece while we waited for class to start. "It's a picture of me burning down Starbucks," I explained as I added more flames to the poorly drawn coffee cafe.

"Is that stick figure supposed to be you?" he asked, pointing to the stick figure who was holding a lit match in one hand and a can of gasoline in the other.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Shouldn't his teeth be bigger?"

Rather than dignifying his comment with a response, I maturely stuck my tongue out at him. Then I returned to my drawing and added "Me" with an arrow pointing to my stick figure.

Truth be told, I was in a really perky mood. Sure, I had opened up the café that morning (meaning a 4:00am wake-up), had been berated by irate customers, had forgotten to study for my math test that would take place in three hours, and hadn't finished the paper which I had already gotten a one week extension for _last_ week. However, I was in a mood that just couldn't be soured, and there was one simple reason.

Skittery.

He and I had spent the previous day together. It had been our first real date (I didn't count ten minutes of lunch as a "date") and everything that was currently wrong with my life had ceased to exist.

I heard someone fall into the seat behind me and a hand fell upon my shoulder. "Spill, Snitchy!" Nora squealed into my ear.

"Spill?" I asked, playing dumb. I liked teasing Nora, making her work for the gossip of my love life.

She, though, was having none of it. "How was the date?" she asked emphatically. "I want all of the gory details."

"You had a date?" Blink asked. "I want to hear!"

"Shouldn't you both be concerned with your own love lives?"

"I haven't had a date since June," Blink said.

"And I refuse to go on a date until I finish my film for Medda's class, so we both have to live vicariously through you. Now tell!" she demanded, punctuating the order with a light punch to my shoulder.

I sighed and relented. Nora was not one to give up. Once she had an agenda, she stuck to it no matter who got in the way, and with Blink helping her, I wasn't going to have a moment of peace until I gave them the play-by-play. "So he picked me up at around 10:00 yesterday morning."

"Car?" Nora asked.

"We walked."

"Exercising and saving the planet in one swoop," Blink observed. "Go on!"

"We went to the Art Institute since it was free."

"He's thrifty," Nora commented.

"And artsy," I added. "He really knows his stuff. I, on the other hand, spent most of the time adding stupid and inappropriate captions to all of the pictures, and making stupid voices for the sculptures."

"No surprise there."

"Well, if the artist didn't want his stupid cherubs to be mocked, he shouldn't make them look like their farting!" I argued.

"How did he like it?" Blink asked

"He laughed, but I don't know if it was a real laugh or a polite laugh."

"And then what?"

"We grabbed a quick lunch at Applebees."

"Classy," Nora said in a sarcasm-dripped tone.

"Romantic," Blink added.

I rolled my eyes at their comments before continuing. "Then we hopped on the trolley for Navy Pier."

"Tourist trap!" they both chorused.

"But it was fun!" I insisted. "We walked along the pier, we ate food that was really bad for us, we rode the Ferris wheel," I rambled off, "We even sneaked into the Shakespeare Theater at intermission and saw Act II of that crappy _Three Musketeers_ musical they've got going."

"Okay, sweetie," Nora said, cutting me off. "When we said to tell us about your date, we meant the X-rated stuff!"

I made a face. "There was no sex."

"Kiss?"

The goofy grin which spread across my face answered her question. "A quick one," I said, certain that my cheeks were blazing red.

"No tongue?" Bink asked. He almost sounded disappointed.

"No tongue," I affirmed. "But he did ask me on another date."

Nora's eyes lit up. "When?"

"Tomorrow night," I told her. "I mean, it's not completely a 'date,' but he's playing in some club and he invited me to come."

"So you're, like, his groupie?" Nora asked.

"No! I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being a groupie. I'm just…I'm the boyfriend."

"You should pick to be the groupie," Blink advised. "They're the ones who get the sex. The significant others just get their pictures taken with the stars."

"He's not a star, so I don't think I need to worry about that."

"What's the name of the club?"

"I think it's called The Grapevine," I told her. "It's somewhere off the Beaumont stop."

"No fucking way!" Blink hissed. "That's where Jack Kelly's band plays! Is Skittery, like, opening for them or something?"

I frowned. Skittery hadn't mentioned another band. "Maybe," I said uncertainly. When I saw Nora and Blink exchange glances, I added, "What?"

"Well, Kelly's band is kind of known for having sex. I mean, _lots_ of sex."

"Um, good for them," I said, still not seeing his point.

"It's just that they have a reputation of always trying to one-up the other with sexual conquests and sex with a fellow musician is…well, it's extra points."

"How do _you_ know this?" Nora asked.

"I may have had sex with their drummer."

"May have?"

He rolled his good eye, admitting, "Okay, so I _did_ have sex with their drummer. But I knew what I was getting myself into when I did it. I was just in a dry spell…and he was there."

"Look, I don't think I have anything to worry about. Skittery isn't so weak willed and he doesn't strike me as the one-night stand kind of guy." I said the words, but even in the back of my mind I had a twinge of doubt.

"Snitch is right," Nora said, a slight uncertainty in her tone. "Besides, I'm sure most of those rumors are a gross exaggeration.

Our conversation ended as our professor called us to attention. I, however, couldn't concentrate on anything at the moment as thoughts of Skittery ran through my mind. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't have random sex.

Would he?

* * *

**AN:** Sorry for the delay! The good news is I finally know where I'm going with this!


	5. Chapter 5

The Grapevine was every bit the slightly seedy, yet still trendy, club that I thought it would be. Located up north, it was situated between a pawn shop and a 24-hour liquor store. The neon sign outside had a couple of letters out so it actually read "he rape in," which, it seemed, gave everyone a laugh as they entered. I simply wondered why management didn't fix the sign.

I had never been a big fan of clubs and bars. It always found them to be loud, hot, crowded, and smelly. This one was no different. As soon as I entered, I was met with the ear-splitting sound of some crappy song that the club DJ was playing. The club seemed like it was filled to the brim, more so as I pushed through the throng of drunken people who were milling around, holding plastic cups filled with what I knew would be horrible-tasting beer. I knew this because _all_ beer is horrible-tasting.

After some pushing and prodding, I ended up in front of the stage where I saw a band setting up. Well, most of them were setting up. The front man—I assumed that was the Jack Kelly who Blink had mentioned—was sitting on the end of the stage, flirting with a brunette girl who regarded him with the adoration which the pope would give upon meeting Jesus. She scrunched up her nose and laughed at something he said. The other band mates rolled their eyes as he put the moves on the girl.

"Snitch!"

I looked to the side and saw Skittery waving to me, holding his guitar in hand. I grinned as I approached him and pecked him on the lips. "Hey! You didn't tell me there was another band here. Are you opening for them?"

"Better than that," he exclaimed. "They heard me play and asked me to stand in for a performance!"

I don't think he noticed my nervous smile when I learned he would be playing with a band known for their promiscuity. "That's great," I said with much more enthusiasm than I actually felt.

"Here," he offered, grabbing my arm. "Let me introduce you."

I wasn't really in the mood, but I didn't protest as he dragged me back to the stage. The band members looked up as we approached and I distinctly felt like I was being studied under a microscope.

"Guys, this is Snitch," Skittery introduced. He then pointed to the guy flirting with the girl, a short, Italian looking guy holding a bass, a guy of Asian ethnicity who was holding a guitar, and a rather angry looking guy who was setting up drums, saying, "This is Jack, Racetrack, Swifty, and Oscar."

They gave me small waves which mirrored my own wave. It seemed uncomfortable for all of us. Well, except for Jack. He was too busy exploring the mouth of his girlfriend.

"This is…um…Sarah?" he said/asked after he'd come up for air. I guess she wasn't actually his girlfriend.

If Sarah was annoyed by Jack not knowing her name, she didn't show it. Instead, she nodded and giggled as though having a guy forget her name was the funniest thing in the world. Jack smirked and dove in for another go-round, leaving his band mates to finish the setting up.

"So you're Taylor the Latte Boy?" Swifty asked with a bemused smile. I looked at Skittery who was blushing. "It's okay," Swifty assured me. "When he mentioned your real name and where you worked, I made the connection myself. My sister's a Chenoweth fan and I nearly went crazy hearing that song over and over."

"Skitts!" the Italian—Racetrack—called. "Can you help me pull the amps on from backstage?"

"Yeah, sure!" He gave me a peck on my cheek before sprinting off.

Rather than think about my newly-found boyfriend running backstage with another guy, I turned my attention to Swifty who, so far, had been the only band member to acknowledge my presence. "So it was really great of you guys to let Skittery play in the band."

"Yeah, well it was kind of selfish on our part," he admitted. "Or other guitarist dropped out and we needed someone."

"Why'd he drop out?"

Swifty paused and checked to make sure no one was listening before he leaned in to me. "We've been telling people it was creative differences, but the truth is that he and Racetrack get too involved with each other. When they broke up, the guy, Spot, went kind of crazy and refused to play."

"Sounds like something out of a soap opera."

"It was. I mean, Racetrack was kind of a jerk about the break-up, but it was nothing new. Racetrack is a serial dater. I don't think he's been with anyone longer than a couple of weeks. Spot knew what he was getting into, but he thought it would be different. But a leopard doesn't change its spots." He sat down and carefully began tuning the instrument. "Trust me, I should know."

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at me and smiled sadly. "He wasn't the first one to succumb to Racetrack. He and I had a fling. Then he broke it off. The difference is that I sucked it up and put the music first."

"He seems to have a thing for guitar players," I joked.

Swifty smiled, though it wasn't a joking smile. "Yeah," he agreed without an ounce of joking or sarcasm in his voice. "You may want to keep an eye on Skittery."

I stood there speechless as Skittery and Racetrack returned, each holding one end of an amp. They were laughing about something, though I didn't get the joke. Must have been some inside joke. Wait? What was I thinking? They hadn't known each other long enough to have inside jokes. Of course, he and I had created an inside joke the first day we met, but that was completely different…right?

I shook my head violently, trying to rid my mind of these crazy thoughts. I had absolutely nothing to worry about.

* * *

I had staked out a front table with Sarah as the band made their final preparations. Sarah was nice enough, though her conversation consisted mostly of Jack and her relationship with Jack and how long she'd had a crush on Jack. Not that I could blame her, seeing as mine tended to remain in the vicinity of Skittery and our relationship. The band was our only real connection and I don't think either of us was in the mood to veer from that territory.

A man who looked like he had been a cool rock and roll guy forty years ago (and who was still trying to dress like one) took the stage. "Whatssup!" he screamed into the microphone, sticking out his tongue, even though I was sure the majority of people in the club probably had no idea who Gene Simmons was. "We've got your favorite band here tonight! We know these guys rock ass and tonight they're ready to rock your world! Now give it up for The Leather Condoms!"

I had to snort at the band name, but I couldn't deny they were good. I wasn't really a fan of hard rock, but I knew when it was done well. Jack had a husky, gravelly voice which sailed through the song without sounding forced or strained. He was also a natural at playing to the crowd, especially to Sarah who sat hypnotized by his every word. Swifty was the kind of guy who played the guitar with his entire body. His head would bob up and down in rhythm as his fingers slid up and down the strings, finding each chord. Racetrack was obviously the clown of the group, shooting funny faces to the crowd and making lame jokes. He also was crude, taking any opportunity to grab his crotch. Oscar got kind of lost sitting in the back behind those drums, but his energy and enthusiasm shone through even behind it all. I could see him biting his tongue as he beat out the rhythm, his body bouncing in time.

And Skittery? Well, he was gorgeous, of course. He wasn't the hard rocker that the others were, but he held his own among them. He had a quiet way of playing, content to stand to the side and just let his hands do the work. He would catch my eyes mid-song and shoot me smiles, sometimes coupled with winks.

I wanted to enjoy it, honest I did! Under any other circumstances this would have been an enjoyable night. But I still couldn't quite work through what Swifty had said. Every time I thought I was over it, Racetrack would teasingly give him a slap on the ass or a bite on the shoulder. Sounds strange, yes, but he was doing that to all of his band mates, not just Skittery.

The high I'd felt from my weekend date with Skittery was making a not-so-gently crash landing.


	6. Chapter 6

"Taylor, do you know why I wanted to have a private conference with you?"

I looked up glumly at Medda, one of my many film teachers. Out of all of them, she was without a doubt the harshest on me. She claimed she wanted only the best from me; personally, I thought she was just a bitch. "I'm not doing well?" I asked.

It was the morning after I saw Skittery play at The Grapevine with The Leather Condoms. He had walked me to the 'L' station at the end of the night before going to join the rest of the band for an early breakfast at Clarks. I was invited to join them, but I declined, citing my early morning meeting with "my psycho professor" as the reason. To be honest, I would have declined even if Bitchy McBitcherson hadn't asked me to meet with her that morning; I wasn't in the mood to sit with a bunch of rockers while they gushed about how hardcore and bad ass they were. When they left, Skittery and Racetrack where laughing about something and acting very chummy for two people who (supposedly) barely knew each other.

I was in a bad mood as it was, so sitting here with the crazy woman was only the icing on the cake.

Medda clasped her hands together, something I noticed she did when she was about to have a stern talk with someone. "Your work is not what I would expect from a student at this point. You are no longer in the beginner classes; it's time to step it up."

"I've turned in the work on time," I argued. "And it always meets the requirements."

"Yes," she said in agreement. "You do the bare minimum of the work."

I bit my tongue to keep from cursing her out. Bare minimum? I don't call getting up at 6:00 am on a rainy morning and spending four hours outside to film a two and a half minute film the bare minimum.

She grabbed a sheet from her cluttered desk and spread it out in front of her. "Your last film," she said. "It was about a guy and a girl going on their first date."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you choose that subject?"

I was taken aback by her question. "I…I don't know…" I honestly hadn't thought about it. I just knew that I had to make a film in two and a half minutes so I made that one. "It just seemed like a good subject."

"Hmm," she murmured as she nodded. "Are these the kinds of films you like?"

I shrugged. "They're okay. I don't like Chick Flicks, if that's what you're asking."

"Why did you make this film?"

What was with these idiotic questions? "Why did I make it? Because I had to for class!" I shouted louder than I meant to. "I mean, that was the assignment!"

"So…you made the film you made only because you wanted a good grade."

"It was the assignment," I repeated, albeit in a calmer tone.

"No, the assignment was to make _a_ film, not _that_ film. You could have made any film you wanted. So why that one?"

I was frustrated. My newly-found boyfriend might be cheating on my with the sexually promiscuous bass player in their new band, and now my film teacher was asking why I had fulfilled an assignment she had given our class. "Look, you said make a film and I made one. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is that you weren't thinking about the film, you were thinking about your grade. I can tell because there was none of you in the film."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to star _and _direct."

Medda didn't appreciate my joke. "Do you know what annoys me the most in films today?"

"I haven't a clue," I muttered. I was sick of this conversation. I just wanted her to get to the point already and send me on my way.

"It annoys me when I see a film and can tell that the people involved with it only made it because they knew it would make money. Film is an art form. You don't just throw a bunch of cliché plot devices and big name celebrities around, hoping something slightly worthwhile sticks. You have to take an idea that means something to you—that _inspires_ you—and nurture it and mold it into something beautiful. Otherwise, you just have dreck that doesn't mean anything. It might make you money—or, in this case, get you a good grade—but it won't be something you're proud to have your name on."

I rolled my eyes—well, internally, I did—but I didn't argue with her. I knew an argument would do no good. Medda was the most headstrong woman I'd ever met. All I wanted was the bottom line. "So what does this mean?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

"Well, the film you've turned in would earn a 'C' grade from me."

"A 'C'?" I asked incredulously. I was sure I'd get at least a B-! At our school, classes required for our major had to be completed with a grade of a B or higher. "But…but that's not a passing grade!"

"I know," she said with a calmness so sickening I just want to smack her across her smug little face. This was my career she was toying with! Didn't she understand I needed to pass this class?

"After long consideration, I have decided to give you an extension on your film."

"An extension?" I asked, not quite understanding.

"I want you to redo your film. Choose a subject matter that really speaks to who you are. Don't worry so much about the grade; just worry about making a film you will be proud of."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered as I stormed out of her office. "You're not the one with your ass on the chopping block!"

* * *

"She's a bitch!" I lamented to Skittery on the phone later that night. He had left me a message on my cell phone, telling me how sorry he was I couldn't join them last night. It was sweet and mushy enough to raise my low spirits and dissolve any suspicions I had about him and his new band mate.

"I don't know," he said. "At least she gave you a chance to redo it."

"Oh, sure! Take _her_ side."

I knew I was acting like a whiny child, but I couldn't help it. If I failed this class, I wouldn't be able to graduate on time. I would have to stay for at least an extra semester. Then my parents would complain about how much money I was wasting and question whether or not I was really dedicated to my art. Inevitably, it would lead to them once again suggesting I work with my dad in the plumbing business. It gave a whole new meaning to "My career went down the toilet."

Would Medda have a change of heart if she knew I was one failing grade away from fiddling around on a bathroom floor with my butt crack hanging out?

"I'm not taking any sides; I'm just trying to put things in perspective."

"I know…I'm sorry for being so snippy. I just really need to pass this class!"

"Maybe I could help," he offered. "I could give you some cool music for the film or something."

He had to smile at his enthusiasm. "Thanks, but it would probably help to know what the film is going to be about first."

"Snitch, you're a creative guy. I know you can come up with something."

I opened my mouth to reply when I heard a commotion in the background on the other line. "What was that?"

"Hey!" I heard him call out jovially. "Yeah, man, I'll be there in a second."

"Skitts?"

"Racetrack came over to go over some of The Leather Condoms' songs with me. I've got a lot of catching up to do."

My brain only registered one section of his response: Racetrack came over. So in other words, Racetrack—the sexually driven bass player who has a thing for guitarists—is sitting with my boyfriend—a guitarist—in his apartment. Alone. Just the two of them.

No, that didn't worry me at all.

"Oh," I said, hoping my overwhelming fear wasn't obvious. "Well, uh, maybe I should come over and watch. You know…for inspiration."

Skittery laughed. "It's gonna be really boring stuff, Snitch. Unless you find inspiration in me fumbling my way through chords while cursing profusely, I suggest you look elsewhere for it."

There was another comment from Racetrack in the background, but I couldn't hear what he said. "I've gotta go, Snitch. I'll see you soon, though!"

Before I could respond, the line went dead. I then did what any rational and reasonable human being would have done in my situation.

I chucked my phone against the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

"Geez, Taylor! What'd that whipped cream canister ever do to you?"

Nora's teasing question pulled me from my self-pitying thoughts. I looked down and saw that I had been shaking the same canister of whipped cream for almost five minutes. I held it tight in my grip; my fingers were practically frozen to it. "Sorry," I muttered as she helped extract it from my grasp.

She peeled each finger away one by one. "So spill."

"What?"

"You've got something on your mind; what is it?"

I leaned back against the counter, massaging my chilled hand with my warm one. "I've just got a lot on my mind." I explained to her about my problems, starting with Medda's ultimatum and ending with Skittery's private session with Racetrack. "I've lost my career and my boyfriend in one big swoop."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," she admonished as she began setting up the pastry display. "You haven't lost anything. You've been given a chance to save your career and your boyfriend is just trying to get caught up in his new band. You do realize that he's going to be alone with other men from time to time. Are you going to have a crisis every time that happens?"

"Of course not! I'm not stupid; I know he's going to have a social life that has nothing to do with me. But this isn't just some guy; this man is a guitar-loving nymphomaniac who is just waiting to sink his claws into Skitts."

"Don't you trust your boyfriend?"

I frowned. "Yes…" I said uncertainly. It wasn't that I didn't trust him; I just had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Maybe it was the pessimist in me, but Skitts seemed to be a bit too perfect and I was waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop.

"So then what's the problem?"

"How would you feel if your boyfriend was spending time alone with another girl?"

"I'd probably just be happy to actually _have_ a boyfriend."

With a groan of frustration, I began counting my till. The problem with having problems is that no one understood them but you. "It doesn't matter anyway," I told her, "because now, thanks to bitch-face Medda, all of my free time will be devoted to re-doing the film project. She said there wasn't any of _me_ in the film! Can you believe that?"

I had expected a few words of agreement on her part, but what I got was an awkward silence. When I looked up at her, she was fidgeting uncomfortably and avoiding my eyes. "What?" I asked.

She looked up. "Hm?"

"You've got something to say but you don't want to say it."

Nora's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried to say something. I'd always known her to be a blunt person, not afraid to speak her mind about someone. Granted, those people hadn't been friends and those comments had been behind their backs. I had a feeling that being blunt to someone you considered a friend was much more difficult. So I helped her out. "You agree with her!" I accused.

"Not agree, per say," she replied, having finally found her voice. "I just think that your film wasn't really a reflection of you. I mean, it's the kind of thing I'd expected from that annoying blonde girl who sits in the back, listening to her ipod all through class. You, though…you're too smart for that! It's below you!"

"So you agree with her!"

"I'm just saying that it might benefit you to take her comments into consideration. She's your professor, that's what she's there for. I seriously doubt she'd lead you astray for her own shits and giggles."

"I can't believe you agree with her!"

"Christ, Taylor, will you get off it already?" she snapped. "Is your ego really so sensitive that you can't take the slightest bit of constructive criticism?"

"Friends are supposed to have your back!" I spat out.

"Guys!" We turned mid argument to see Al standing angrily in the doorway. "Less fighting, more working! Leave you're personal problems at home."

We mumbled disingenuous apologies to him. Angry or not, neither of us wanted to cross him. He seemed assuaged and returned to the dungeon known as the back office; hopefully he wouldn't come back out.

Now, I knew that the mature thing to do would have been to apologize to Nora for blowing up, explain that I was just stressed, and calmly disagree with her assessment of my situation. Unfortunately, this was me, so I chose a different approach; I ignored her.

"Snitch," she said quietly. "Come on, talk to me." When I didn't respond, she let out a frustrated groan. "Don't be like this, I was just trying to help."

I stayed focused on the table I was cleaning, resisting the urge to speak to her. I was angry at her and when you're angry at someone you don't speak to them. It works on TV.

"Fine!" she finally snapped. "Be that way!"

As I watched her storm off to re-stock the paper towels in the bathroom, I felt a twinge of remorse at my behavior. The truth is that deep down I knew that it was true; about Medda about Skittery…about it all! But admitting that would be the same as admitting that _I_ was the problem and I was far too proud to do that. It was easier to be ignorant and blame everyone else.

Nora returned from the bathroom and she was still steamed. I said nothing as she stormed behind the counter.

So on top of verging on failure and having doubts about my budding relationship, I had just lost the closest ally I had. Great.

* * *

"You're being really quiet," Skittery commented as we shared an order of cheese fries.

I shrugged. "Guess I'm just under a lot of stress."

"Oh, I'm sorry." His hand encapsulated mine. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I dipped a fry into the melted cheese. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Well, I'm here if you need anything."

I need you to quit your band so I don't worry about you and that bass player hooking up. "No, I'm fine," I insisted with a forced smile. "Nothing to worry about." Sensing his uncertainty, I tactfully switched subjects. "So I was thinking that tonight we could go to that gay club off the Damon stop."

"Oh…" he said with an awkward look. I had a feeling "yes" wasn't going to be his answer. "Actually, Race and I are getting together tonight to go over more songs."

"Again?" I cried in a tone that was far whinier than I'd wanted it to be. "But you guys spent last night doing that!"

"Yeah, well they've got a lot of songs and we've got a gig this Saturday, so I need to be at my best."

"You're already at your best!"

"Thank you," he told me with a small smile, "but I'm really not. I sucked at The Grapevine."

"You did not!"

"I did! I mean, I was good enough at faking it, but anyone who's ever studied music would know that I wasn't at the top of my game."

I sat back and shoved the plate away from me. My mood this week seemed to keep dropping and dropping. "Whatever."

"Oh, come on! Don't be like that!" It was almost exactly what Nora had said to me hours earlier. I was getting sick if hearing it. "I need to keep up with the band or they'll drop me!"

"So am I ever going to get to spent time with you?"

"Isn't that what we're doing right now?"

"Gee, great. Sitting in some crappy diner and eating a heart attack covered with cheese."

"I thought you liked cheese fries."

"I do!" I snapped. "That's not the point!"

"So what _is_ the point?"

"The point is that you're supposed to be my boyfriend and that means we're supposed to actually see each other now and then!"

He eyed me suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"Jealous?" I scoffed. "Ha! That word doesn't even exist in my vocabulary!"

"You're certainly acting jealous."

"Because I want to be with my boyfriend?"

"Snitch! I'm sorry, but I can't do it tonight! Maybe after this next gig! We can do whatever you want."

My eyes narrowed in anger. I extracted a number of bills from my pocket and threw them down on the table. "Fine. Then I guess I should leave you to that. Have fun!" I said sarcastically.

"Snitch!" he called after me as I left. "Hey, come on, man!"

But I didn't respond. I bulldozed through the door and lost myself in the throng of people walking the streets of Chicago.


	8. Chapter 8

Four days had passed since I had walked out on Skittery and he hadn't called me. To be fair, I hadn't called him either. I liked to think it was because I was busy with re-doing my film assignment, but really it was because I couldn't suck up my damn pride. I knew that I had been in the wrong for the most part and I didn't want to admit that to anyone, least of all to Skittery.

"Snitch, could you put more brownies in the display case?" Nora asked as she passed behind me with a tray of croissants. Luckily, our reconciliation had come swiftly. The day after I'd blown up at her, I had apologized, blaming it on stress. She accepted the apology, admitting that she shouldn't have stuck her nose into my business. There was still a little frost between us, but it was thawing like a popsicle on a sunny day.

"I don't know why they keep buying these nasty things," I muttered with disgust as I began putting what looked like Pepto-Bismol covered chocolate brownies into the display case. A nudge to my ribs stopped me mid-sentence. Nora gave me a warning look and I saw Al quickly approaching. He would have been none too happy to hear me insulting a Starbucks product. I gave her a silent thank you as he passed behind us.

"Have you heard from Skittery yet?"

"No," I said glumly.

"Have you called him?"

"Nora, you know me. I don't like to admit when I'm wrong. I only did for you because otherwise this job would have become unbearable."

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Call him. I'm sure he wants to talk to you. Maybe he's just as proud and stubborn as you are. Be the bigger man."

"I just can't believe I got so hotheaded. I mean, I can believe it because this is me we're talking about, but I just wish I hadn't. We've only been dating for, like, a week or so. What right did I have to try and claim his as mine? Besides, I'm sure it _was_ just a platonic relationship between him and Racetrack and I'm just blowing things out of proportion."

"To be fair, your fears weren't completely unfounded," she said sympathetically. "From what I hear, that Racetrack guy _is_ something of a manwhore. But Skittery wouldn't cheat on you like that."

"How do you know? You've met him, like, once."

She shrugged. "Just call it woman's intuition. He wasn't the two-timing type."

Nora was right, of course. Skittery hadn't shown any signs of infidelity in the admittedly short time I'd known him. My self-doubt had crept in, though, forcing my mind to see and imagine things that didn't actually exist. It was one of my neurotic tendencies.

Ever the master of subject-changing, I said, "So I was thinking of seeing if that actress you used in your film could be in my do-over."

"The blonde one or the brunette?"

"The one with the big breasts. You wouldn't happen to know her number, would you?"

She grinned as she scribbled it down on a napkin and handed it over to me. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were attracted to her."

"Attracted to a yucky girl? Ew, but then I'll get girl cooties and grow a vagina!"

"Stop being an ass," she said good-naturedly as she gave me a soft punch on the shoulder.

Before our show of camaraderie could continue, Al passed by, giving us a stern look (at least, as stern a look as an overweight, sad little man like Al could muster) and we turned our attention back on our allotted tasks. Though even as we worked, we sneaked glances and bemused grins to each other.

Like I said; melting like a popsicle on a sunny day.

* * *

The Grapevine loomed before me once again that evening. After some prodding and poking from Nora and Blink, I'd decided to see the Leather Condoms' show and try to make peace with Skittery. They wouldn't take my word that I was going, so they tagged along to make sure I didn't chicken out.

"I'm starting to regret this already," Nora mumbled as we passed by a couple of drunk boys who were shouting and laughing loudly about how one of them had "fucked her so hard I thought that bitch was going to, like, fucking pop or something!" The other guy doubled over in laughter, but that soon turned into him vomiting on the ground just inches from where we were.

"Classy place," she said as I held the door open for her.

The club was just as I'd remembered it, except maybe a little worse. Now, the stale stench of puke mixed with B.O. hung in the air. The stage was empty at the moment, but I could see The Leather Condoms' instruments and equipment set up. Within moments, I caught sight of Jack. He was in the corner, lip-locked with Sarah while his hands worked their way up her shirt.

"Hey, fucker!" I turned and found myself face-to-face with Oscar, the drummer. Only he wasn't talking to me. "I thought you were going to call me," he spat out at Blink. "Fucking bitch!"

Blink very obviously had no idea what the irate man was talking about. He cowered back. "What do you mean? I never said I was going to call you!"

"You so fucking did! We hooked up at Dutchy's party three weeks ago and you said you'd call about getting together for a second round. Well, where was my fucking call, douche?"

"We didn't hook up at Dutchy's party! I don't even know who the hell Dutchy is!"

Oscar squinted his eyes and frowned, peering more closely at Blink. "Well, shit, I must have been pretty damn drunk at that thing then. But you look familiar."

"That's because we had sex at the dorm Halloween Party. We ended up in the broom closet or something."

At that, Oscar's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah! You were dressed as a pirate, or something gay like that! And you," he said, turning to me, "well, I don't remember when we had sex."

"That's because we didn't, Oscar. I'm Snitch; Skittery's boyfriend. We met last week."

"Right, the boyfriend." His eyes landed on Nora this time. "Did we have sex?" She snorted in response. "I'll take that as a no. Well, come on, Patches," he said, grabbing Blink around his wrist, "I've got some time before our set and as I recall you were pretty good last time."

"Oscar!" I yelled as he walked off with Blink as his prisoner (albeit, a very happy prisoner). "Oscar, where's Skittery?"

"Somewhere," was his less than helpful response. Before I could probe further, he and Blink had melded into the crowd of people.

I sighed. "Crap."

Nora stood beside me, rocking back and forth awkwardly. "Is there anyone else you could ask?" She was itching to get out of there, I could tell.

"Hey, Snitch!" As if by miracle, Swifty appeared beside me. Between his big grin and the fact that he actually remembered who I was, he was already proving to be a greater help to me than his bandmate had. "Haven't seen you around here much. Of course, I only ever saw you here that one time." He glanced to Nora, asking, "And you are?"

She held out her hand which he took. "I'm Nora, Snitch's friend."

"Nice to meet you. Can I get you guys a table? There are a few empty ones down front."

"Not yet, Swifty. Can you tell me where Skittery is?"

"He's backstage in the green room. He and Race are going over a few chord changes." Swifty paused hesitantly as though he had something heavy weighing on his mind. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It's just that Skittery's been a bit down and hasn't talked about you nearly as much as he was before, so I just kind of figured…"

"He used to talk about me?" I asked, a bit flattered. "Good stuff, I hope."

"All good stuff," he assured me. "He wouldn't shut up about you for a while, so when he stopped suddenly I got suspicious."

"We just had a little spat," I said. "Nothing too serious. That's mainly why I'm looking for him."

"Just go back there. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Nora nodded to me. "Go talk to him. I'll get a seat somewhere." She inhaled and winced, adding, "Hopefully in an area that doesn't smell like piss."

Swifty offered his arm to her. "One piss-free seat, coming right up."

I watched them go off toward the stage before making my way in the opposite direction. After pushing through the suffocating crowd of drunkards and having various parts of my body groped by random strangers, I reached a door that read "Backstage: Employees Only." No one was watching, so I disregarded the sign and pushed it open and slipped inside.

The area was dank and cold, but there wasn't a security guard in sight. There were three doors, one to the right and on the wall across from me. To the left was a set of stairs leading up to the stage. I peeked behind the first door and found that it was a storage closet. The second one said "Manager" on it, so I assumed I wouldn't find Skittery in there. That left only one more door…

"Skitts?" I asked as I opened the door. I immediately regretted it. There, in the room, were Skittery and Racetrack, as I had expected. What I hadn't expected was for them to be kissing. Yep, that part truly came as a surprise to me.

They jumped apart at the sound of my voice. Skittery looked very flushed and ashamed; Racetrack less so.

"Snitch!" Skittery hissed. "W-what are you doing here?"

A thousand different options rushed through my head. Do I answer? Do I demand what's going on? Do I scream at him? Do I punch Racetrack? Do I slam the door and run out?

He jumped up. "Look, it's not how it seems," he said, his voice shaking. "Honest, Snitch."

My chest was tight and I stepped back as he got closer. My hand was balling up into a fist; I wanted to punch something. I settled for punching the door. And it hurt. It _really_ fucking hurt.

"Gee, I'm so glad to see I don't have to worry about you and him," I snarled angrily. "Yep, I was just making a big deal out of nothing!"

"Snitch…"

"Save it! Just fucking save it!" I stormed off, slamming the door to the backstage area behind me. From there, I pushed through the people, not caring if it pissed them off. _I_ was pissed off.

How could this have happened? I thought Skittery wasn't like that. I thought he was trustworthy and honest. I can see how wrong I was. And to think I was coming here to apologize for being so jealous and suspicious!

It didn't take me long to find Nora. She and Swifty were occupying a table by the stage. "We need to go," I said briskly. "I need to get out of here."

She frowned but stood. "Snitch, what's wrong?"

"I just don't like it here. Can we go?"

"Did you talk to Skittery?"

"Hard to talk to him when his got his tongue down another guy's throat."

Her mouth fell agape, her eyes wide. "He was kissing another guy?"

Even Swifty looked surprise. "Him and Race?" I nodded. "Geez…Snitch, I'm sorry!"

"I want to go home now." Sure, I sounded like a petulant child, but I didn't care; I couldn't make myself care.

Nora didn't fight me on it, though she did bring up a good point. "We can't leave without Blink. He's off with that drummer guy."

"You guys go. I'll make sure he gets home," Swifty offered.

"Thanks," I said, mustering up as much of a smile as I could. "And I want you to know that no matter how pissed off I am at Skittery and Racetrack, I think you're a really cool guy."

We exchanged our goodbyes. Then Nora and I pushed our way out, back into the frigid night air. The 'L' stop was a few blocks away and I suddenly felt tired, like I couldn't take even one step more. If I wasn't nearly broke, I'd have suggested catching a cab back.

"It'll be okay," Nora assured me. She slipped an arm around my waist, supporting my lax body as much as she could. "Just give yourself some time to cool off, give him time, and then maybe you guys—"

"No," I interrupted. "No, we can't. It's done with. He obviously doesn't want this anymore. So let him go. He can screw Racetrack or anyone he wants. I don't care."

"Anything I can do?"

I shook my head. "Thanks, but no."

We managed to make it to the stop and plopped down on one of the benches to wait for the Red Line. I rested my head back and closed my eyes. "It might sound crazy, but I'm kind of glad that Medda's making me do my film over."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because now I can jump into working on that and become so absorbed in it that I completely block all of this out of my mind."

She snorted. "Oh yeah, that sounds _so_ healthy."


	9. Chapter 9

"Your phone's ringing," Nora pointed out as my cell phone rang for about the seventh time that day.

"Can't talk. Editing." With the deadline for my make-up film soon approaching I'd been forced to reduce my talking to incomplete sentences; monosyllabic when possible. My focus was on the film and nothing was going to distract me, not even a desperately attractive man who had taken my heart and stomped on it.

She rolled her eyes and snatched up the phone from my desk. "Skittery," she read aloud. "I'm guessing you haven't answered any of his calls these past three weeks."

"Last week he knocked on my door and I sat in the same spot for ten minutes without the TV or anything on just he would think I wasn't home," I admitted glumly.

"Pathetic, Snitch."

Nora was right and I knew it, but there wasn't much else I could do. Let's not forget that I was, in fact, the victim in all of this. Sure, I'd been a wee bit on the irritable side for a few days and yes, I had said some things I'd soon regretted, but none of those things excused Skittery for sticking his tongue down another man's throat. Nope. Not even close.

She sat down beside me and forced me to look at her. "I know that what he did was wrong, and I'm not justifying it, but you should at least hear him out."

"No," I said firmly, "I should focus on my film and on not failing this stupid class. Skittery and men in general should not even enter my mind. It's…it's pointless and frivolous."

Nora placed the palm of her hand against my forehead. "Are you sick?"

I slapped her away. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Because I just thought I heard you say that men were pointless and frivolous."

"Oh, ha, ha," he muttered. "Believe it or not, I do have priorities in life aside from guys."

"Name one."

"Well, I would say my friends, but I'm about to be down one if you don't shut it."

"Stop being so testy," she said as she flopped down on my bed. "I'm just joking. Figured I'd try to lighten the mood."

"I know, I know. But I don't need the mood lightened; I just need to get this thing done."

The only good thing about my break-up with Skittery was that with all the free time I suddenly had, I'd managed to redo my film for Medda's class, and with a week to spare, at that. Not to mention, my experience with him had given me inspiration for an entirely new film.

"Now explain the story to me again, Snitch."

"It's a guy who catches his girlfriend sleeping with another guy and how he becomes a total recluse as a result of that."

"So it's a biographical piece?" I gave her a sour look, forcing her to amend her previous statement by adding, "I mean, minus the part about the girl."

"Did you come over for a reason other than to annoy me?"

"You love me, admit it."

"That love is starting to wear away."

"Okay, okay," she said, holding her hands up in defense. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to be like that. It's just that…" Nora stopped and started twirling her hair around her finger, always a sign that she had something uncomfortable that she wanted to talk about, but she wasn't sure how to breach the subject.

I made it easier for her by starting her off. "It's just that what?"

"Well, you remember Swifty?"

Of course I remembered Swifty. He was the only Leather Condom that I'd consider speaking to again; though, only if I absolutely had to. "What about him?"

"He kind of…sort of…asked me out on a date?" she said, ending her sentence with an upward inflection as though it was question rather than a statement.

"Oh." That was a shock, not least of all because I'd assumed Swifty was gay. "Well…that's…"

"If it bothers you I'll say no," she blurted out quickly. "I mean, sure he's nice and intelligent and cute and respectful and—"

"Nora," I cut her off, "it's fine. You should go out with him. No need for you to be punished just because Skittery is a two-timing jerk. And Swifty's a good guy; you deserve a good guy."

She wrapped her arms around me from behind and planted a hard kiss on my cheek. "Thanks, Snitch! You're the best!"

That at least brought a smile to my face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm all heart."

It seemed that, despite my being hurt in the ordeal, my friends had managed to benefit from my brief encounter with The Leather Condoms. Aside from Nora and Swifty becoming so close, Blink had hinted to me that he and Oscar had had more than one hook up since that night at The Grapevine and that they were starting to be more than sex buddies.

Suddenly, everybody was getting some except me.

"So, do you have a title for the film?" asked Nora.

I frowned. "_The Lonely Hearts Club_."

* * *

"Grande latte with a pump of hazelnut and a dollop of whipped cream."

"Can I get you a breakfast pastry as well, sir?" I asked monotonously as I punched in the man's order.

"Uh, sure. One of those croissant things."

Ronda, one of my fellow workers, grabbed one from the display case and packed it for me before handing it over. I thanked her, then read the man what he owed me. He handed me the money, I handed him the croissant along with his change and took the next customer.

My life was officially the most boring life in the world. I didn't even have a snotty customer to mock today. Not that it would have mattered anyway; Nora had finally gotten a better job and had told Al to kiss her ass before chucking her apron at him. While I was happy for her, I was let down knowing that I'd lost my only ally in this crap job, making it all the more painful to get through my shifts.

"Snitch! Something wrong with the muscles in your face?"

I sighed. "No, Al."

"Then please try smiling for our customers."

Rather than argue, I plastered the biggest, fakest smile I could muster onto my lips and turned to face the next customer.

And the smile immediately fell.

"Hey, uh, Snitch."

It was Racetrack. "Hi," I greeted tersely. "Can I help you?"

"Can we talk?"

"I'm sorry, sir; unless you make an order, I must ask you to move aside and let the next person come up to order."

"Come on, don't make this hard on me."

"What would you like, sir? A cappuccino? Perhaps a nice coffee cake? We have a special right now for egg nog lattes."

"Snitch, I…Egg nog latte? That sounds disgusting."

I agreed with him, but I wasn't about to say so. "Please move to the side while you consider your order and allow me to serve the next customer. Thank you."

He sighed. "Fine, fine! Give me one of those stupid frappuccino things—the chocolate one—and one of those really gross looking pink brownies.

I punched in his order with great ferocity, imagining that the screen was his head and that my fingers were mini fists, punching him over and over.

"Thank you, sir," I said with a tight smile as I handed him his brownie and his change. "Your frappuccino will be at the end of the counter."

And so Racetrack grabbed his purchases and settled himself down at one of the tables and slowly began sipping at the drink and picking at the brownie. And he stayed there, doing just that, for a good half-hour. I'd never seen anyone drag out consuming their purchases as long as he did. By the time I went on my mandatory break, he still had half of the drink left and most of the brownie.

I sat down across from him, knowing that he would just sit wherever I did anyway. "Not exactly gobbling it up."

"The brownie tastes like shit and I'm not a big fan of coffee."

"So why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're a manwhore and you and Skittery deserve each other."

"You've got a right to be mad at me."

"I know I do!" I hissed. "And I _am_ mad at you! And as much as I want to convince myself that you somehow hypnotized Skitts into making out with you, I know it's not true! He's just as guilty of anything as you are!"

Much to my surprise, Racetrack didn't argue with me. "You're right. He is just as guilty as me. It was a shitty thing for both of us to do."

"So why'd you do it?" I asked, glaring at him.

He shrugged. "Different reasons. I did it because I was horny and really wanted him. I mean, he's fucking hot! Even you have to agree with me there."

I did agree with him there, even if I hated Skittery at the moment.

"Skittery, though…" He stopped and shook his head. "You may not believe this, Snitch, but until that night, he and I never did anything. Our relationship was purely platonic, at least on his part. I, of course, was trying every trick I could to get into his pants."

"What changed?"

"Skittery got upset. You guys were fighting and he talked to me about it. I could see he was hurt and a little vulnerable and…well…I guess I took advantage of that."

"You _guess_?"

"Okay, okay!" he crowed. "I _did_ take advantage of him. I made the move on him. He was surprised, though; I don't think it even really registered in his mind completely. He'd had a few beers by then."

"Oh, I see. So you're saying alcohol made him do it."

"I'm saying that he wasn't exactly in his right mind that night. If he had been, he would have pushed me away immediately."

I was speechless by this confession from Racetrack. I'd expected Skittery to come crawling back to me, but I hadn't expected this. Racetrack didn't strike me as the contrite, apologetic type. "Why are you telling me all of this?" I asked, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Because I'm sick of seeing Skittery mope around. Because I'm sick of feeling guilty about doing that to him and to you. Because despite my reputation, I do have a good heart at times and I can see when something just isn't going to happen. And it's _not_ going to happen between us. Even if Skittery hadn't been with you, he'd never be into me, so I may as well give it up now. You guys deserve each other, and I mean that sincerely."

My mind was racing as it processed all of this. What was I supposed to do now? "Do you expect me to just forgive you and go back to the way things were before?"

"No. In fact, I expect that no matter what, you'll pretty much hate my guts for the rest of your life. But I just thought you should know the truth, even if you're too stubborn to give Skittery a second chance."

Racetrack stood, items in hand, and tossed them into the nearest garbage. I stood as well, my cheeks pink with anger. "I don't really think I need a morality speech from you of all people."

"Never said you did. But think about this, Snitch: are you really okay with walking away from someone who might be your soul mate because he messed up one time? Do you really want to live the rest of your life wondering if he was really The One?"

"…That's really cheesy."

"Yeah, I know. But it's the truth. Think about it, Snitch."

I watched him go, wanting to hate him, but shocked to find that I couldn't muster the energy. The fact was, Racetrack was nothing to me; he was just a jerk who had inserted himself between me and the guy I may have loved.

All of my anger, all of my emotions…they were all aimed at Skittery and Skittery alone. Which made me wonder: would I really be wasting as much energy on him if I didn't still have feelings for him, didn't still care about him?

"Snitch! Pay attention to the clock! Your break ended five minutes!"

I pushed all thoughts of Skittery from my mind as I returned to my station. It was over between us and nothing was going to change that.

* * *

**AN:** I think the next chapter will be the last! I'm kind of sad to see it end!


	10. Chapter 10

The day finally came for me to show my film redo in class and to once again fall under the discerning eye of Bitch-Face Medda (who, admittedly, wasn't quite so bitchy as I liked to think she was). I was more nervous about this time than I'd ever been showing a film for any of my classes, not only because my grade (and, therefore, my future) hung in the balance, but because this film and its subject matter was so close to my heart. I had made myself completely vulnerable and had laid everything out there. If she didn't like it…well, that was it. I was bled dry and had nothing more to give.

It's a strange sensation, watching people watch your work. You're so conscious of their reactions that it's difficult to enjoy it. Will they laugh at the funny parts? Will they cry at the sad parts? Will they get the subtle messages? Will they appreciate the choices you made? And this was just a crappy little two and a half minute student film; I can't imagine how it would be to premiere a full-length big budget film. I simply slunk down in my seat and kept my eyes downward on my desk, not wanting to catch anyone's gaze; then I waited for the film to be over. A small sweat overcame me and I felt my skin burning up, though I wasn't sure with what.

As the last frame faded out, Medda brought the lights up. "Taylor," she called. I looked up. "Please come to the front of the classroom."

I shuffled up to the front obediently, my shoulders slumped and my hands shoved in my pockets.

"Now, explain to us your film."

"Um, it's just about a guy who loves this girl, but then she cheats on him, so he kind of becomes reclusive."

"I see. And was there any particular inspiration for this?"

Yes, the last few weeks of my stupid life. "Yeah…just, you know, stuff I've seen from people's relationships."

"Ah." She turned to the class, asking, "Does anyone else have anything to add or ask?"

They were all silent. I wasn't sure if that meant they loved it or meant they hated it. Most likely, it meant they were bored out of their minds and were counting down the minutes until class was over.

Medda turned her attention back to me and I waited for her to tear into me as she had before. But, to my surprise, her face broke into a wide smile. "Well, Taylor, I see this was just the kick in the ass you needed. You have obviously taken my advice to heart, and it shows in this new film."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. This film feels like you, it _exudes_ you."

"Uh, thank you?" A film about a pathetic guy and his pathetic love life exuded me? Not exactly a high compliment.

"This is the passion you should bring to _all_ of your films if you ever want to be successful. I you don't have passion for the film, you can't expect your audiences to have it either."

"So does that mean a change in my grade?" I asked hopefully.

Medda didn't disappoint. "This is an A film, and deserves an A in grading. Thank you, Taylor, you may return to your seat."

I slid into my desk with a sigh of relief. Behind me, Nora gave me a hearty pat on the back. "Way to go, Snitch," she whispered. "It really was a great film."

"Thanks. I had enough inspiration. Funny; I hate Skittery, but he managed to give me what I needed to make a great film. Well, great by student film standards at least."

"Hey, anger can be a great catalyst sometimes. Just look at every country and emo song ever written."

As class disbanded, Blink met up with me and Nora, slinging his arms around our shoulders. "Life is good," he announced jovially.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like someone got laid."

"And how! I tell you, he maybe be a total asshole, but Oscar really knows what he's doing when it comes to sex."

"I'll add that to the list of things I could have died without ever knowing," I grumbled, mostly out of resentment. Blink may have been my friend, but it didn't mean I liked hearing about his getting some with my ex-boyfriend's bandmate.

Blink ignored me, recognizing that my comment had come from a place of bitterness at Skittery rather than any anger at him. "What's weird," he said, "is that he's starting to become…well…kind of affectionate."

"That's bad?" Nora asked.

"Not bad; just weird. I'm not used to seeing him act that nice."

"Has he said the 'L' word yet?"

"No," Blink admitted as a blush crept over him, "but he's been kind of hinting at it."

I made a face when he wasn't looking. This talk of love was giving me a toothache. I deftly changed the subject. "So how's the new job treating you, Nora?"

At that, her eyes alit and she clasped her hands together, holding them over her heart. "Oh, Snitch! I don't know if it's just that working at Starbucks was hell itself, but working for the boutique is like heaven on Earth. I get twenty percent off all of the merchandise, I don't have to wear a green apron or black cap, and my boss is a new age, hippie-dippy woman who only plays songs from the 60's and who doesn't believe in enforcing punctuality. Not that I abuse that, of course. I wouldn't be a minute late and even risk losing such a fantastic job. I mean, honestly, I almost orgasm just thinking about how much I love this job."

Blink and I exchanged looks of disgust above Nora's head. "And that's another addition to the list of things I could have died without knowing."

"You know what I mean," she said, giving me a light slap to the chest.

"Hey, you guys want to grab a bite at the 49th St. Diner?"

"Can't," Nora said. "I've got my Chemistry class in half and hour."

"Skip it."

"I can't, Blink. I've already wasted my skip limits; anymore and I'll fail."

"Loser," he said with an exaggerated roll of his good eye. "What about you, Blink?"

"Work starts in an hour and I need to get home to change and rest."

"Ugh! Why don't my friends have lives?" he bemoaned.

"Can't your little sex buddy meet you for lunch?" I asked.

"Oscar's got a band meeting or something stupid like that. He said it was super important. I think the Leather Condoms might be thinking of breaking up, but you didn't hear that from me."

I couldn't deny that I felt ever slightly gleeful at the news. It would serve Skittery and Racetrack right, after all. Petty, sure, but I was still in victim mode.

"I've got to get to class," Nora said, "but I promise to meet up for drinks tonight to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Can't we just celebrate life or something?"

"Whatever, just let me know. I'll bring the vodka," Blink said. "I've got to eat something, though. I skipped breakfast this morning because Oscar insisted on a quickie."

"Gah!" I cried as I covered my ears. "Way too much information, Blink!"

We exchanged our goodbyes before Nora headed off to class, Blink headed off in search of food, and I headed back to my apartment to get in a little rest before my afternoon shift. It was nearing the holiday season which was a busy time for us; one needed to pace himself for that.

As I sat on the train, I looked around with disgust at the many obvious couples around me. People holding hands, smiling, even kissing. It made my stomach churn. What right did they have to be so happy when I was still so miserable? If I couldn't have luck with love, then nobody else could either, I decided in a moment of petulance. Like I said, I was still in victim mode.

When I exited the train, I saw a man with a mop of curly hair sitting on a bench with his back toward me. In his hands, he held a guitar, which he was strumming softly. In a moment of excitement and weakness, my heart leapt into my throat and I rushed over to him…

But it wasn't Skittery. Not even close.

And that just broke my heart.

* * *

"So that's one venti mocha with whipped cream and a pump of almond, and a glazed doughnut," I all but yawned as I entered hour three of my five hour shift. "Anything else, ma'am?"

With my shift more than half-way over, I was beginning to plot out the rest of the evening. I'd get drunk with Nora and Blink later that night, of course, but before that I planned to head back to my apartment and enjoy a few hours of Ed Wood movies to lighten my sour mood.

"Snitch!" Al barked, pointing to our diminishing food display. "Get into the back and get more salads and sandwiches from the freezer."

I grumbled under my breath, but did as was told, intentionally taking as long as I could in the freezer to find the food. Standing in a sub-zero freezer was preferable to dealing with a shitty manager and asshole customers. When I couldn't take the cold any longer, I re-entered the front with the food items bundled in my arms.

Then, I promptly dropped them all to the floor. Al, of course, let out a string of choice words for me, but his voice barely even registered in my mind. My focus was on the small group of guys who were standing in the doorway. I recognized them as The Leather Condoms. Swifty had his guitar, and Racetrack his bass. Oscar had a drum slung over his chest and Jack was standing nearby with a tambourine.

Skittery was standing front and center with his guitar. He shot me a small smile as I gaped at him.

"Everyone," he announced in a loud voice, "may I have your attention? I'd like to sing a song if all of you don't mind. It's a song that I ripped of from Kristin Chenoweth, but I've changed the lyrics a bit to fit my situation. It's dedicated to a very cute barista and…" He hesitated for a moment. "Well, I just hope he likes it."

I watched in wonder as Oscar counted them down. The band began playing, unplugged and without the same blasting sound they usually had. Then, ever so softly, Skittery began to sing a tune that sounded familiar:

_There's this boy who works for Starbucks_

_Whose name is, sadly, Taylor_

_It is sad his name is Taylor_

_Because of some stupid song_

_The first time that I met him_

_He shyly told me, "…Hi…"_

_When he shyly told me, "…Hi…"_

_My attraction was so strong_

_And that day when I first met him _

_I glanced down at his name tag_

_His nametag, it read 'Snitch'_

_So I asked him to explain_

_He said his name was Taylor_

_But that he'd had to change it_

_Because some stupid theater hags_

_Are so fucking insane_

_I laughed and said "I'm sorry_

_But I do not understand…"_

_Then he told me 'bout the song_

_Which inspired the one I'm singing with my band._

_Snitchy, my latte boy_

_He gives me java and gives me joy_

_Oh, Snitchy, my latte boy!_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_So I finally worked my nerve up_

_To invite him on a date with me_

_He went on that date with me_

_It was the best day of my life_

_Then I kind of messed it up with us_

_And I did some dumbass shitty things_

_These shitty things brought nothing_

_But lots of pain and strife_

_And I rue the day I did those things_

_Not just because I lost Snitch_

_But because I truly hurt him_

_And he didn't deserve it_

_So I regret the things I did_

_Because they hurt him so much_

_And when I think of how they hurt him_

_It makes me feel like shit_

_I want to make it up to him_

_But I'm not sure how I can_

_I just hope that this will show him_

_That I want him to be my man_

_Snitchy, my latte boy_

_He gives me java and gives me joy_

_Oh, Snitchy, my latte boy!_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I used to think I was the kind of guy_

_Who'd never find his true love_

_Now that I've met the boy of my dreams_

_There's no other guy that I dream of_

_Snitchy, my latte boy_

_He gives me java and gives me joy_

_Oh, Snitchy, my latte boy!_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_So many years my heart has waited_

_Who'd have thought that love could be so caffeinated?_

_Snitchy, my latte boy!_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

As the final notes of the song faded out, I wasn't aware of Al, who had now turned his attention to the band and was shouting at them to get out, nor was I aware of the shocked parents whose young children were giggling after hearing some words that weren't meant for young ears. My attention was on Skittery and Skittery alone. My hands clutched at the counter and my feet were rooted in the ground, barely holding me up as I felt my entire body melt into goo.

"Look, Snitch," he said, pointedly ignoring Al, "I know I messed up. It…it was a mistake. If I could go back in time, I would change it. I would pick you any time."

A small chorus of "awww" emanated from the other customers like a sitcom audience. It was obvious whose side they were on.

"I'm not saying I deserve a second chance—I probably don't—but if you can find it in your heart to give me that second chance, I would never take it for granted again. I love you."

And just like that I was reverted back to a teenager-like state of mind and heart. I imagined tiny little hearts hovering above my head as my cheeks grew red and I averted my gaze down to my shoes.

But should I give in? Should I ignore the rage that had been bubbling up inside ever since I opened that door to find Skittery in a lip-lock with Racetrack? Should I allow my heart to be won by a stupid parody of a stupid song?

Well, yes, but to be fair, his adorable smile and gorgeous eyes certainly helped woo my heart, just as it had the first time.

I tore off my apron and the ridiculous hat, tossing them to the ground as I exited from behind the counter. Skittery watched me hopefully, wondering what I was going to do.

"That was an asshole thing to do."

"I know it was."

"And it hurt me a lot."

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"But," I conceded, "Lord knows I've made my share of mistakes with my friends, and if they never forgave me I'd be a pretty lonely guy."

At that, Skittery's lips twitched upward into a smile. "So…are you saying that you…"

I grabbed his face in one swift motion and pressed my lips against his. It had been weeks since I'd tasted his lips and I had forgotten just how good they were—a nice mixture of strawberry chapstick and coffee. Slowly—and regrettably—I peeled away and opened my eyes. "I'm saying that if you do it again I might have to hurt you."

"I won't," he said quickly.

"Good." I pecked him once again on the lips. "Because I'd hate to have to hurt you."

Skittery's arms wrapped around my waist as he pulled me in for another kiss. I heard whoops and cat calls from his bandmates, as well as a few of the Starbucks customers.

"Snitch!" Al hissed. "You get back behind this counter! You're still on the clock."

Maybe it was the fact that I was still high from my successful film for Medda's class. Maybe it was that I was currently in the arms of a very sexy man. Or maybe it was just because I'd had enough of this crap. Whatever the reason, I turned around and flipped Al the bird. "Fuck it," I said, "I quit. You can go ahead and shove it up your ass."

I heard Skittery laugh, a gorgeous throaty laugh. "I love it when you talk dirty."

* * *

That night we celebrated. The group consisted of me, Skittery, Blink, Oscar, Nora, Swifty, Jack (with some curly-haired boy who was definitely not Sarah), Racetrack, and a skinny blonde kid who was introduced to me as Spot, the guitarist who had quit the band before Skittery joined. He and Race seemed quite chummy for two squabbling ex-lovers; I supposed something about this ordeal had forced a change in Racetrack and how he viewed relationships.

We settled down in the apartment inhabited by Swifty, Jack, and Oscar, with a bottle of vodka a bottle of tequila between us. Oscar had already retreated to his bedroom with Blink in tow and I noticed Jack was inching that way with his new boy-toy.

As for me? Well, I was sitting on the end of the couch with a tipsy Skittery resting against me while Nora, Swifty, Race, and Spot played Rock Band.

"Hey, Skittery?" I whispered as my hand softly stroked his hair.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Did you write the lyrics to that song you sang at Starbucks?"

"Of course. Who else do you think would have written them?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did you like the song?"

"It was cheesy. Like, _really_ cheesy. Like Disney cheesy." I gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I loved it."

"Good. Because no matter where you work, from now until I die, you'll always be Snitchy, My Latte Boy."

* * *

**AN: **That's the end of this! Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


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